


Red Eyes

by listlesszo



Category: Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: M/M, bad title, bad title. bad, bad writing? yes. do i feel bad? yeah..., im bad at ratings im sorry, mainly because i actively avoided italics, rated m bc there's a lil mention of sex, this was the EASIEST to format to date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 19:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlesszo/pseuds/listlesszo
Summary: The bond you form is unbreakable-soul brothers, forged from adversity like a diamond. Life without him seemed unreal. There is only now, with Kiyotaka’s wide eyes and ethereal soul.





	Red Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I had writer's block then all of a sudden it was like "ishimondo???? hello???" so this is a result of that
> 
> *This is a stand alone fic.*

He appeared one bland morning, ushered by the principal. His hair was black: pure black, with not one hint of another color. It had a stark contrast to the white of his skin, blending in to the crispness of his uniform. A uniform! That’s the biggest thing. A school with no dress code and he still sports a uniform. Unbelievable. 

“It’s Oowada, correct?” First thing he asked. You can’t help but take in the way the uniform creases around his arm resting on the back of the chair, his eyebrows raising in anticipation for your words. No one has ever asked you anything. They’re too afraid. You curse the teacher for making you sit close to the front. 

“S’ Mondo.” You attempt to look cool by flashing your canines, but he just blinks. Then it hits you: this idiot’s eyes are blood red. They do not leave your face. In another world, he would be scary. Here, he is just the new kid, desperate to make friends. By the time he thinks to say something in response, the teacher has started, and he whirls back and listens to the entire lecture without faltering. This you take in with confusion: who is this? Where the hell did he come from? Every letter is perfectly written in his notebook. When the bell rings, he silently begins to close it, and you see a flash of something familiar: your name, in the top right corner, as if he is trying to remember you.

Unbeknownst to you at the time, you realize you will have no trouble remembering him. In fact, he will be the only thing on your mind for a very long time.

…

Kiyotaka. You heard his name get tossed around in the hallway, in the locker room, in the courtyard after school. His “freakish” personality is combined with his startling looks. One girl whines about how he reported her for cheating on a test. A boy remarks how weird he is during gym, not once letting his attention fade from the workouts. With every story, someone turns to you, waiting. You’re Mondo. Of course you will complain about someone like him. He’s bait. An easy target. 

You pretend you can’t hear them.

Besides during class, you don’t speak to Kiyotaka very much. His nights are clearly spent doing homework and studying, while yours are causing trouble anywhere you can get to. Any place away from what used to be home. It’s not until you get to class late, with a cut under your eye, that Kiyotaka takes special interest.

“Mondo?” He’s standing over your desk. Everyone else has left. You must’ve fallen asleep. Even now his uniform is a shiny white. Though faint, you can smell starch from where he must iron it dutifully every single day. His skin is remarkably smooth. A faint but sudden image of you touching it, kissing it, burns once through your mind but you ignore it. Keep looking into his red eyes.

“Mondo?” he says again, softer. Your heart decides to jump at his voice. When was the last time someone’s spoken to you that way? “Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?”

You start upright in your seat. Too bright lights. The scene still fresh in your mind. An officer, leading you from the collision, trying to put a blanket over you, trying to get some answers. Are you okay? Do you need medical attention? You couldn’t even cry. Not until you were sure you were completely alone.

Kiyotaka’s eyes are red like blood. They hold memories you spent years trying to hold back. Tears fill your eyes. Mondo Oowada. Tough. A leader. But didn’t they know you would never live up to such an impossible standard?

Now he’s helping you. He’s already grabbed your bag. You worry, briefly, it will stain his shirt. He helps you up, leading you to the nurse, shielding you the best he can from students lingering in the halls. The nurse is surprised to see you. She tells Kiyotaka to go, she can take it from here.

“I’m staying.” He insists. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him defy an adult. His eyes alight, his hair flashes white. “I’m staying until you fix him.”

The sting of peroxide is painfully familiar. You remember cutting your hair one night, nicking your neck but deciding to bleach it all anyway. In the nurse’s mirror, you can see where your eyeliner dripped from sudden tears. She fixes you up quickly. Hands you a wet towel to clean yourself up. Secretly, you thank her for not asking too many questions.

When you leave, there is Kiyotaka, as promised. He immediately rests his gaze on the band aid on your cheek.

“Let me walk you home.” He tells you. Your face burns, though you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You’re too tired to argue.

…  
You try to see your home through his eyes. The dark paneling, the pile of clothes on the couch, the cracked television screen. It reeks of embarrassment to you, and an apology slides out, then another, then another, until Kiyotaka rests his palms on your shoulders. His hands are surprisingly cool. Soft. 

“It is okay, Mondo. What matters most is getting you to rest.” And he means it. His eyes do not leave yours. 

He runs you a bath. You feel awkward, undressing when you know he’s still somewhere in the house, but he waves it off. 

“We are both men. Besides, I will be in the kitchen making tea. During this, I promise to not even think of you nude.”

How odd, you think, but it’s comforting. Because you know his personality, and you can see him suppressing his thoughts just to make you comfortable. When you finish, he walks into the living room while you’re still digging for a shirt, and heat rises in your face, even after he calmly turns around until you finish dressing. 

You rest on the couch. He hands you a cup of tea, offers you some soup. You decline, then worry he will leave. Surprisingly, he sits next to you, pulls out his homework, and quietly does it while you watch him. No one’s been here with you for years. Once he finishes, he takes the cup and puts it on the coffee table. It’s quiet, but it’s because you’re both thinking.

Finally, Kiyotaka turns and says, “So what is it? What happened?”

“Just some dude with a broken bottle. Nothing new.” He registers this with a faint nod then creases his brows.

“No…what happened to make you so defeated?” 

You’re tough. You’re a leader. You do not miss your brother. No. You’re crying in the presence of another man who has asked you a question laying in your heart for years. How can he sense it? He wipes your tears. Apologizes. You want to answer but can’t. He pats your hand. Offers you another cup of tea. You just shake your head. The fear of him leaving you rises again and your sobs get louder. Though you just met him, you can’t imagine anyone else understanding you. You got dependent the minute he stayed behind with you. 

The minute he selflessly offered what you selfishly desired: careful concern.

…  
As time passes, you begin to love him. Not just as a friend, but as something more. The simple fact of his body and voice become irresistible to you. You love when he puts an arm around you while explaining a math problem. You blush when he fixes your jacket collar. One time, he delicately licked his finger to wipe off a stray mark of eyeliner and you thought about it for a week. And it is not just physical appearance, but the allure of his heart that enraptures you. He spent nights with you, listening as you stutter through your life story, aiming to answer his question. When it got hard, when you brought up Daiya and your throat tightened, sweat beginning to pour down your face, he held onto you, asked you to stop. 

“Take it one night at a time.”

And you did. And with each night your love blossomed. Instead of each ugly fact censoring you from him, he took it as something precious. It only added to the person he saw now. He called you wonderful, brave, unique, words you hated until they were formed by his lips. You believed him. The bond you form is unbreakable-soul brothers, forged from adversity like a diamond. Life without him seemed unreal. There is only now, with Kiyotaka’s wide eyes and ethereal soul. 

One night, you lay with him in your bed. It’s getting dark outside. He already agreed to stay the night. You’re both in pajamas, him with some matching satin striped button down you laughed at when you first saw them, and you in your boxer briefs and tank top. You love hearing him breathe next to you. 

“Mondo?”

You turn to him.

“Would it be horrible if I kissed you right now?” Another question that evokes a visceral reaction, but this is the complete opposite: your body answers his question before your mouth can. You reach out to him, and he scoots closer, pressing a palm to your cheek, and his kiss is like an angel. His tongue is hot when it slides from between his teeth, meeting yours in a way that has you craving more. You’ve only allowed yourself to feel like this in the dead of night, when you are sure he will never hear his name leave your lips like that. But now he fishes it out of you. You pull back, suddenly nervous.

“Kiyotaka.” For once you love your voice, purely because of the way he melts onto you when you speak his name. 

He moans in reply. His hands are exploring the skin under your tank top, stopping just under your chest, fingertips dipping into your waistband for a split second, as if opening a door to the wrong room. Kiyotaka kisses you each time he does this. Slowly, you understand his motives: take it slow, give you room to opt out at any time. Yet another thing that makes him such a beautiful character.

“Can you stop?” you whisper in his ear. Your voice is cracked and throaty, strained with the erection just beginning to form. Kiyotaka brushes against it as he climbs off of you, nodding.

“Of course. I’m sorry, did I take it too far? Goodness, Mondo, I sure hope I didn’t make you-“

“Shh.” A single finger on his lips. His cheeks redden and he dips his eyes down. He’s harder than you are, and you want to help him, but know better. “Not tonight. Okay?”

There’s no hint of annoyance or disappointment on Kiyotaka’s gentle face. It’s as if he knew all along, was just about to stop himself. He was a man that knew more than he let on, both in knowledge and emotion. You watch him pat his hair and smooth his pajamas down then lie back down. You’re both back to the beginning, like nothing happened. Except this time he lays on your chest, and the warmth from his face seeps through the fabric onto your heart. 

“I’m glad I met you.” He mumbles. 

“You’re glad?” You ruffle his hair. “If I didn’t have you right now, I’d-“Die? Be sad? You don’t even know. Life without Kiyotaka would simply be a life not worth living. He saved you the second you needed him, swooping in and protecting you under angel wings. You kiss his forehead. He’s dozing off now, not noticing how you thank everything for those red eyes, even after they close, because without them you’d be hopelessly, hopelessly, lost.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always welcome. :)


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